


From The Ashes

by maddierose



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Arranged Marriage, Creepy Petyr Baelish, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jon Arryn has a daughter, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sex, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose
Summary: Tamara Arryn is married to Jaime Lannister in the midst of her investigations regarding her father's death. When she becomes Warden of the East, everything will change. As Lady of the Eyrie, Tamara will decide the formerly neutral Vale's allegiance - and Westeros's future. Yet she finds herself drawn to the man she swore always to hate. Jaime/OC.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Another story posted on Fanfic.net that I'm also posting over here. I only Tamara and any other characters you don't recognise.

**Warnings: non-graphic sex**

When Lysa Arryn first discovered that she was pregnant, she fell into a flurry of anticipation and trepidation. She had been worried that she may not conceive a child due to her husband's old age, and she anxiously waited each month to see if her bleeding would come. When it did, she was always bitterly disappointed. Sometimes she was reduced to tears, angry at herself and the gods for the lack of child between her and her husband.

Her relationship with Jon was not close – the man was old enough to be her father at least – and as such, making love was not an experience Lysa relished. She lay still and let Jon do as he pleased, as she had always known was her duty. Her husband was not a forceful or rough man, but it seemed as though making love was simply a duty to him as well. No words were spoken before or after, and Lysa would often console herself. When she bore a child, it would all be worth it.

She carried a son, she was sure of it. The Eyrie, which Lysa had always perceived as cold and soulless, became alive at the news that Lady Arryn was with child. She spun and danced and for a brief amount of time, Lysa was the sweet girl from the Vale who had laughed and swam with her sister Catelyn. Yet when her belly started to swell with the child she carried, Lysa's thoughts drifted to Petyr.

He had been drunk that night, rambunctious due to the sweet Dornish wine of which he had consumed too much. Lysa had longed for him for some time, she did not care that she was unmarried. Her father would never allow her to marry Petyr, for he was too lowborn, yet it was only Petyr she desired. Only Petyr's sharp eyes followed her older sister Catelyn too much, so much so that when he agreed to accompany her from the feast, Lysa was both delighted and surprised.

Petyr was a skilled lover, even though it was a first time for both of them. The pain was worth it, if only so Lysa could truly call Petyr hers. She clung to him as he drew ragged breaths, her room silent apart from the creaking of the bed and the occasional moan. Yet as he drew close to his finish, Petyr ruined everything.

"Catelyn," he moaned, kissing down Lysa's neck.

She could forgive him. He was drunk, and drunk people always did silly things. Yet it was _she_ would have given up her maidenhead, not Catelyn. Petyr tugged on his clothes and left in a rush, worried that Hoster would catch them out. Yet Lysa clutched at her pillow and wept bitterly, for she did not understand why it was not her name that Petyr would rasp out.

When she had later discovered she was with child, Lysa was both terrified and triumphant. Surely now her father would have to allow her to marry Petyr, and everything could be as she had imagined it. There would be a beautiful wedding and Petyr would come to love her, she knew that he would. Yet when Lysa told Hoster, he was deeply disappointed in his youngest daughter. He instructed her to drink moon tea to rid herself of the shame that bound her and Petyr together. For Petyr was lowborn, and Lysa was highborn, and she could not marry him.

Hoster always told Lysa she was fortunate to marry any man, let alone the Warden of the East. Yet Lysa only ever saw an old, frail man, and she yearned for her Petyr more than ever. Now, with her husband's child in her belly, Lysa decided she must make the best of her circumstances. When she birthed Jon's son, surely he would love her more, pay her more attention.

Her husband had seemed delighted when he had wrote to her from King's Landing. He was always there now, as Hand of the King after Robert had come to the throne. He promised that he would come back to the Eyrie for the birth of their child. Lysa had always wanted a baby, but she had wanted _Petyr's_ baby, not Jon's. She often wondered if the child had been a boy or girl, because when the moon tea had flushed it out, it had been too early to tell. Lysa had locked herself away in her room for days after that, furious at her father and Petyr and herself.

But now all would be well. For she carried Jon's son and heir, and surely nothing bad could come from it. Lysa did not allow herself to get too excited for the sake of the child, but already she was thinking of names. Jon wanted to name him Robert, after the boy he had once raise who was now King. Lysa did not quite know yet, but she thought that Alester was a fine name. The more Lysa's stomach swelled, the more her anticipation and excitement swelled with it.

* * *

Jon returned to the Eyrie two weeks before Lysa was due to give birth. There was nothing ceremonious about the event, and when husband and wife were reunited, there was no more than pleasantries between them. Lysa didn't know Jon, not truly. He spent far too much time in King's Landing and too little with her. She knew Petyr well, for the two had grown up together. She missed him dearly.

When Lysa's water broke, she was immediately terrified. Women had died in childbirth before, what if she did? Her attendants soothed her, told her that it was nothing to be afraid of. She was young and full of life, certainly nothing bad could occur. The birth itself was a difficult thing, lasting more hours than Lysa cared to count. Jon remained in his study as though the mess of it all would perturb him, but Lysa knew her husband would come when she held their son in her arms.

"One last push," the maester instructed her, and Lysa cried out as she pushed with all her might – and then another's cries joined hers. Her baby. Her son. She flopped back against the pillows, red hair lank with sweat, her entire body aching. The maester cleaned the baby up and smiled down at Lady Arryn.

"Well done, my lady. You have given birth to a healthy baby girl."

Lysa's dreams were immediately shattered. A girl. A _girl_ ?! She had been so certain it was a boy she carried, so sure that she would give Jon the heir he so desperately needed. Her arms shaking, she received the baby from the maester. It was a tiny, squalling red thing. What need would she have of a girl? Lysa was, for perhaps the hundredth time in her life, writhing in bitter disappointment in herself. Why couldn't she have done anything _right?_

Jon entered the room and Lysa swallowed. Surely her husband would be just as grateful for a girl child. She smiled weakly and held the wailing baby up for his inspection.

"We have a daughter, my love."

Jon inclined his head, turned on his heel and exited the room without another word. Lysa held her baby close and cried, knowing that she had failed him. She inspected the girl in her arms, trailing her fingers over the baby's tuft of red hair. She would be a Tully in appearance. Lysa stroked her daughter's hair as tears leaked down her cheeks.

"Tamara."

* * *

Lysa treasured the first few years of Tamara's life, although they were also fraught with trouble. She suffered a miscarriage, and Jon insisted that she and Tamara come to live with him in King's Landing when the child was three years old. The girl was a year older than Robert's son Joffrey, and it became clear that the King intended for the two children to become good friends. Yet as they grew older, Lysa grew to like Joffrey less as his behaviour became more intolerable, and Queen Cersei turned a blind eye to it.

Tamara was whole-heartedly a Tully, despite her Arryn name. Her hair was auburn like her mother's, her bright eyes the colour of the sky. She was an energetic child, who was more prone to tomboyish behaviour than Lysa would have liked. When the girl was four years old, Lysa fell pregnant again. This time, she did not state whether she thought the child to be a son, for she did not think she could bear to be wrong again. It didn't matter in any case – Lysa miscarried three months into the pregnancy, and the distance between her and her husband grew greater.

"I believe the King intends to betroth Tamara to Joffrey," Jon announced one night over a private dinner.

Lysa couldn't quite hide her revulsion. Six-year-old Joffrey had recently cut open a pregnant cat to see the kittens inside, an event which young Tamara had witnessed. The girl had been reduced to tears and Lysa could only hold her daughter close and stroke her hair, wishing that Jon was not so insistent upon their daughter spending time with such a monstrous child. She frowned and set down her knife and fork.

"Surely you won't allow that. You've seen how unkind the boy is, Jon."

"Nastiness is present in some children," Jon admitted, cutting up his steak, "Yet no doubt he will outgrow it. Tamara is already bigger than him, he does not attempt to bully her."

Lysa resumed eating in silence. Although Tamara was rarely a victim of Joffrey's abuse, there were other young children who often suffered from the spoilt prince's behaviour. Lysa knew that if Tamara married Joffrey, she would be Queen of Westeros…but what would be the price? She did not want her little girl, her only child, to be married to such a horrible boy. Even if Jon was right and it was too early to tell, Lysa did not trust the Lannisters.

* * *

It was through Lysa that Petyr became Master of Coin. He came to the capital often, and when he did, he and Lysa would have clandestine meetings, unknown to her husband. She was always careful, though. She did not want to make the same mistake as before, and as such, made certain that there was no chance of Petyr impregnating her. Lysa introduced Petyr to Tamara, who was more than happy to meet her mother's 'childhood friend'.

"She is much like Catelyn," Petyr once stated with a smile, although this caused Lysa to frown at her daughter being compared to her sister – her sister, who Petyr had once dearly loved. Now, Lysa was certain his affections had shifted to her, much to her delight. She had always known that he would come to love her at some point in his life.

When Tamara was nine years old, Lysa fell pregnant again. She feared miscarriage, but this pregnancy was almost as smooth as Tamara's. The young girl was progressing well in King's Landing. She was learning to play the fiddle and it was said that she often enjoyed dancing at large feasts, which Lysa made a point of not attending so that she could spend the night with Petyr instead.

Jon continued to insist that Robert wished to betroth Tamara and Joffrey, however Lysa protested that it would be unwise to do so while Tamara remained his sole heir. Lysa woke up to find her water broken at seven and a half months pregnant and she screamed, fearing another stillborn child. However, when Lysa gave birth, she was ecstatic to realise that she had produced the desired son. He was sickly and weak, but he was still Jon's heir. When her husband visited, he offered Lysa a rare smile and asked to hold the child.

They named him Robin.

Lysa was completely devoted to her son. Robin was a frail child and needed a lot of care, which she was more than happy to provide. However, as Lysa's attention was focused completely on her son, so her daughter became overshadowed by her decade-younger brother. Tamara grew quieter as her parents invested all of their time in her baby brother. She would often want to hold Robin herself, only to be chastised by an overprotective Lysa.

Yet none came after baby Robin. Lysa was pregnant three more times, only to suffer two miscarriages and another stillborn. Even as he grew older, Robin did not become a strong, healthy child as Tamara had. He constantly required the attention of their mother – and Tamara resigned herself to that fact. Yet she found herself lonely. Myrcella was several years younger than her, and she could not tolerate Joffrey's cruel behaviour.

* * *

It was the Kingslayer who bothered Lysa the most, although she would only admit that in private. Although Tamara had met Jaime Lannister briefly, it was only when she was thirteen years old that she became somewhat more familiar with him. He was her mother's age, a full seventeen years older than her. She often admired the shining armour of the Kingsguard from afar, the white cloak that swept close to his feet.

At thirteen, Tamara considered herself by far old enough to decide whether she wished to accompany her father Jon to feasts. Lysa disapproved of her daughter's decision, but then Tamara found her mother disapproved of most of the things she did. Tamara dressed in bright blue to match her eyes, examining her reflection in the mirror.

She had always been slender, but had recently flowered. This worried Lysa as it meant her daughter was now able to marry – and she fretted that Jon would see fit to have Tamara betrothed to Joffrey after all. Turning on her side and straightening her back, as Lysa always scolded her for not doing, Tamara was pleased to see that she was developing curves. It was nothing spectacular – a gentle swell of breasts, a slight widening of hips. Yet in her eyes, it meant that she was becoming a woman.

"You look lovely, sweetling." Lysa smiled and crossed over to sit her daughter down, braiding her hair with affectionate care. Tamara sat still and practically glowed. It was rare for her mother to show her such attention. She spent more time in the care of her septa than with her parents, so she relished every moment spent with her mother. "Now, you must remember your manners and courtesies at the feast. I don't want you spending too much time near Prince Joffrey."

"I won't, Mother," Tamara promised, "I like him little enough."

She immediately placed a hand over her mouth and flushed in mortification. It was too bold of her to share her opinions of the prince. Lysa merely smiled and gently caressed a stray strand of auburn hair behind her daughter's ear.

"There are few who truly enjoy his company, although it is foolish to say so in public."

"Of course, I would never," Tamara insisted, clambering to her feet. Robin's squalling alerted her to her time with her mother being over, as Lysa swept from the room to care for her younger child. Tamara sighed heavily, but remembered to hold herself upright and proud. _High As Honour_ , those were her house's words, as Jon was constantly reminding her.

Sometimes, Tamara forgot how truly old her father was. While Lysa had only been seventeen, Jon had already been in his late fifties when she was born, old enough to be her grandfather in truth. He was frail much like Robin, although in quite a different sense. Jon stiffly took his position beside Robert, who was bellowing over everyone with the air of a man who already has wine pumping through his veins.

Tamara was a little uncertain of where she should sit. She glanced around the table for any familiar faces, but she did not want to sit beside Joffrey, who seemed to have a nasty habit of pinching her thigh as of late. However, she was saved when she met the green eyes of the Kingslayer and he beckoned. Like a puppet on strings, Tamara was drawn towards him.

"You look lost, little falcon." He jerked his head towards the empty seat beside him. "Do sit. Tamara, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ser Jaime," Tamara responded, gathering her skirts and taking a seat beside him. He was a very attractive man, with his family's golden hair, striking features and green eyes. Cut off from her brief examination when Jaime raised his eyebrows questioningly, Tamara instead turned her attention towards the wine jug, her cheeks burning.

"Would you like some?" Jaime inquired, noticing where her gaze was now directed.

"Yes please," Tamara nodded and held out her goblet as he poured. "I'm only allowed one cup at feasts, though."

Jaime chuckled at that, inspecting the auburn-haired girl. Jon Arryn's daughter seemed to carry nothing of his traits, be it physical or in terms of personality. However Arryn was a dry old man, so of that Jaime could not complain. The two did not speak again during the feast, aside from when Jaime excused himself to help escort a drunken Robert from the room. Soon after that, Tamara felt her eyes prickling with tiredness and excused herself from the table.

"Your father says Jaime Lannister spoke with you," Lysa snapped as soon as she entered the Tower of the Hand, exhausted. Her mother practically flew at her, all sharp eyes and questions. "What did he say? Why did you sit with him? You can't trust that man, Tamara. You know that he killed King Aerys."

"All he did was offer me wine," Tamara protested, undoing the braids with practised fingers.

Lysa glowered at her daughter. "You will not speak with him again, do you understand? If he tries to talk to you, make an excuse about practising your fiddle or your lessons. I do not want you near him or the Queen, they are nothing but trouble."

Tamara nodded sullenly, knowing her mother would hear about it if she did not heed her advice. So Tamara made a point of avoiding Jaime Lannister where she could, little knowing that fate worked in strange ways.


	2. A Lost Bird

**Warnings: none**

Tamara stood vigilant over her father's body, cold and pale. She wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but some childish fear held her back. As was tradition, she was garbed in an onyx-coloured dress. The pearl necklace around her throat caught the light as young Robin fiddled with them. She ignored his harsh tugs, ignored how they strained her neck. Tamara's eyes were drawn as if magnetically to the body of Jon Arryn, Hand of the King.

The sickness had come very suddenly. Tamara and Robin had been forbidden to see their father, while Tamara grew frustrated as she waited for Jon's recovery. Of course, Jon had never been a healthy man these past few years, less so after Tamara's seventeenth name-day had passed. Yet she wondered if she was the only one to find his sudden illness and subsequent death just a little suspicious. The smell of incense burned at Tamara's nostrils unpleasantly. She knew it was meant to ward off the scent of her father's rotting flesh, but the incense was just too strong.

Across from Tamara, Lysa stood with in the traditional clothing of a mourning widow – black like Tamara's own dress, but with the added burden of a heavy veil to keep her face from view. It must be so hard for Lysa, for Robert. Tamara glanced across at the King, who she recognised mostly from the feasts and when she went to court with her mother. He was a fat, jovial man, with a face usually reddened from drink or anger. In his prime, Robert Baratheon had been a formidable warrior – but now he was simply a round-bellied King. Of course, it wasn't an opinion Tamara would ever voice aloud.

Yet now, the King was not jovial. He was not bellowing out requests for more wine, or tickling the serving girls. His eyes were solemn and his expression was grim as he stared down at the body of the man who had practically raised him. Tamara set her younger brother down on the ground, clutching his hand in her own. No matter what Lysa thought, Robin was seven years old, not a baby. Tamara was aware that many at court were rather perturbed by the fact that Lysa still breast-fed her son.

"Gods, what a tragedy," Robert muttered, turning his attention upon Lysa and Tamara. The auburn-haired girl demurely averted her gaze, for it was not often that the King's gaze came upon her. Of course, she was aware that he had still been speaking to her father, insisting practically, that she should be betrothed to Joffrey.

At seventeen, Tamara was no doubt a woman grown. She had a slender figure, like her mother at her age, but was certainly not devoid of curves. She possessed a pretty face, ample breasts and birthing hips as well as a tiny waist. Robert had stated to Jon that she was a lovely girl, and would make any man a fine bride. Yet with Jon's death, Tamara could never see her mother agreeing to allow her to wed Joffrey – much to her utter relief.

As the congregation paid their respects to Lysa, Tamara found that she suddenly could not breathe. Perhaps it was the sight of her father's body, so still upon the slab of marble on which he'd been placed. Maybe it was the fumes from the perfume that wafted throughout the hall, choking her like a weed wrapped tight around her throat. Murmuring her excuses, Tamara slipped from the hall and out onto the balcony.

King's Landing sprawled beneath her, a bustling mass of crowded streets. Of course, Tamara had never been beyond the palace walls, but she did desire to. It was a silly curiosity, a want to see how the lower class population functioned while the nobility shut themselves away from the pleas of the peasants. She did not remember the Eyrie well, for she had been young when they left, and so there was nothing for her to compare the Red Keep to.

"I am sorry for your loss, my lady." The smooth voice belonged to someone very familiar. Tamara whirled around, irritated at her blissful solitude being interrupted in such an abrupt manner. Joffrey sauntered over to her, inspecting her closely. He was a year her junior, and to Tamara's dismay, a few inches taller than her.

"Thank you, my prince," Tamara replied as politely as she was able, stiffness still managing to creep into her tone. Surely grief for her father's death should give her some excuse to treat the Prince coldly, yet she was never sure what Joffrey's retaliation might be.

"Mother says that there's a possibility we may still marry." Joffrey reached out to Tamara and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She resisted the urge to slap his hand away and instead focused on controlling her breathing. Tamara was not one to easily lose her temper, but Joffrey had a way of testing anyone's patience. "What do you think of that, my lady?"

"The idea displeases me." The words were out of Tamara's mouth before she could stop herself. In truth, she should have been horrified at what she had just said, horrified of how Joffrey would respond. But her father had just died and she felt as though it was time to say everything she thought. It wasn't any kind of courage, but the boldness of a loose tongue. There was no regret for what she had said, only knowing there would be some kind of retaliation.

"What did you just say?" Joffrey's voice was a dangerous whisper, his green eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, using his advantage of height over Tamara. "What did you say to me?"

"I was merely speaking my opinion." Tamara lifted her chin defiantly. "I apologise if that displeased you, my prince."

Joffrey looked like he dearly wished to hit Tamara. Part of her almost wished that he would, so she would have true cause to be even angrier. His eyes glittered with fury, but Tamara stood her ground. Joffrey opened his mouth to say something, but someone else spoke first.

"Your mother is looking for you."

Joffrey spun around to see Jaime leaning in the arched doorway that led back into the sept. The Kingslayer had his arms folded over his chest, and he watched his nephew with an impassive expression. Although Tamara had been told on countless occasions to stay away from the Lannisters, she couldn't have been more grateful for Jaime's presence at that particular moment.

"Uncle Jaime." Joffrey shot Tamara a poisonous glare, before turning his attention back on his mother's twin brother. "Yes, of course. I'll go and look for her now."

He stalked back inside, his fine Lannister red cloak sweeping behind him. Tamara watched him go, before she became aware that Jaime's rather bored gaze had turned to land on her.

"Are you alright, my lady? You seem…shaken."

"My father just died," Tamara replied, more coldly than she'd intended. "Forgive me if I don't quite seem myself."

Far from being dissuaded by her icy tone, Jaime strode forward, peering over the ledge and at the city below. Tamara wondered if she should return inside to her mother and brother. Was it safe to be outside with Jaime Lannister? They didn't know exactly how Jon had died. It could have been by natural causes – or someone could have reason to want him dead. Tamara favoured the latter, although perhaps that was paranoia from her mother seeping in.

"Your father was a good man." Jaime turned back around to face her. Tamara wondered why he always seemed either bored or dryly amused. Was nothing in this world surprising enough to faze the great Jaime Lannister? "It's a shame, what happened to him."

"What do you know about that?" Tamara inquired sharply. Perhaps her nonchalant attitude today was earning her more enemies than she could afford, but she was beginning to believe her mother's suspicions about the Lannisters were not entirely baseless. What if they had somehow orchestrated his death to hide something? Only the question was – what were they trying to hide?

"Do you think I'm hiding something, little falcon?" Jaime sounded amused. Little falcon…he had called her that before, four years ago at a feast when he had poured her wine. It was strange, how much things could change over time, and how some things did not change at all. "It's a shame you weren't born a boy, I suppose. Now your mother has to wait for your sickly little brother to come of age, if he does."

Tamara felt her temper rising. Perhaps Jaime was similar to Joffrey in that they had the ability to thoroughly irritate people. However while Joffrey did that simply by existing, it almost felt as though Jaime was attempting to get a rise out of her on purpose.

"You should not threaten Lord Arryn," Tamara replied coolly, folding her arms over her chest. It felt odd that her little brother was now her superior, that he could tell her what to do. Selfishly, she thought momentarily that  _ she _ should have been the one to take her father's place…but no, she was a woman, and women always did as the males in their lives commanded them. Without Jon, Robin was the only one who commanded Tamara now.

"Threatening him?" Jaime arched an eyebrow, seeming mildly interested now. "Dear girl, I was merely stating that young Robin's health is not, and has never been, at its peak. You're a healthy young woman. It's a shame he isn't more like you."

"Like me?" Tamara was dumbfounded. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. She just did as she was expected without complaint, responding to the wishes of her parents like any obedient daughter. She didn't see why Jaime would think her brother should be more like her. Robin was only seven years old in any case.

"Are you returning to the Eyrie?" Jaime inquired, causing Tamara to hesitate. She hadn't thought about that. She had been too busy trying to keep her family together in the wake of her father's death that she hadn't considered the possibility of returning to the Eyrie. Tamara liked King's Landing, she had been there since she had been young. The thought of returning to a place she remembered little of didn't appeal to her – but she would have to talk to Lysa to find out what her mother's intentions were.

"I…I am not certain. Does it matter?"

Jaime merely shrugged, before turning to stroll back towards the arched doorway. He turned to call over his shoulder.

"It would to Robert."

* * *

"Foolish girl!" Lysa hissed as she hastily unbraided Tamara's hair. The girl winced as her mother's fumbling fingers caught on a few auburn snarls. Of course, she had known that Lysa would react in such a way when she told her of her intentions. "You think staying in King's Landing is wise? The Lannisters were almost certainly the ones who got rid of your father! Do you really think they would hesitate to do the same to you."

Tamara shivered, knowing that her flimsy nightgown had nothing to do with it. King's Landing was always swelteringly hot. No, the reason for the sudden chill up her spine had everything to do with her mother's words. Was it possible that Jaime had something to do with Jon's death? No, they always said poison was a woman's weapon. It was more likely that the Queen would have engineered such a tragedy. The only question was, why? Why would she benefit from having Jon Arryn dead?

"I could find out who did it, Mother," Tamara protested, grabbing the brush from her mother's hand and deftly working it through her hair herself. "You think it wasn't an accident, I could prove it."

Lysa laughed mirthlessly. Sometimes, her daughter truly was naïve. What would enable Tamara to find out the answer for herself? The girl was not stupid but she did not have the resources, the spies. She considered Petyr and began to reconsider. Fear struck her through the heart like an arrow. What if Petyr told Tamara something? Lysa was beginning to rethink things. No, Tamara certainly had to accompany her back to the Eyrie.

"If you stay here, they will make you marry Joffrey," Lysa stated bluntly, feeling some satisfaction when Tamara bit her lip uncertainly. Neither of them wanted such a marriage. Even though Tamara would be Queen if such an arrangement took place, even though it would elevate House Arryn, Lysa did not want such a match. Her own marriage had been a loveless one despite her high status. She knew that riches meant nothing if you were unhappy, and Joffrey struck her as the sort of boy who would beat and rape Tamara at his inclination.

"They would do no such thing," Tamara responded fiercely, glancing across at her mother as if to deduce that she spoke the truth. "The match was deduced by his Grace and presented to Father. Robert knows you would never agree to it."

"I won't be here to deny him," Lysa reminded Tamara, hoping that she could dissuade the girl's ambitions. It was a fool's errand, not to mention that Lysa did not want her daughter to discover the truth. If she did, it would mean the ruin of House Arryn…and that was only the beginning. Her hands began to shake and she struggled to hide it.

"Who is going to replace Father?" Tamara inquired curiously. She had been wondering that since she had watched her father's funeral ceremony. Who did Robert Baratheon trust enough to make the Hand of the King? She honestly did not know.

"It looks as though he is going north to persuade Eddard Stark," Lysa sniffed, frowning when a wide smile spread across Tamara's face. Eddard, more commonly known as Ned, was married to Lysa's sister, Catelyn. Tamara had never met her cousins who resided in the north, but now it seemed as though she had the opportunity to, as well as investigating her father's mysterious and sudden death. "No, Tamara. I forbid it."

"Forbid what?" Tamara nearly snapped, her blue eyes burning with agitation. She was seventeen and unmarried, with no father to support her and a mother who jumped at Lannister shadows. Perhaps it was time for her to try and make her own fortune. "I've never met my cousins, Mother. I hear the eldest is only a year older than me. I would like to see them."

"Going with the King's party?" Lysa demanded, shaking her head fervently. "The Lannister lions would eat you alive, Tamara."

Perhaps Tamara was too naïve to the ways of the world. By herself in court in King's Landing…it was not an ideal situation. She was an attractive girl, what happened if some young man managed to seduce her and left her destitute with no options of marriage?  _ Like me… _ Lysa would not see Tamara's only option being a decrepit old man who required an heir. A young woman like her deserved something much more than that.

"Mother." Tamara got to her feet, raising her chin. She was no little girl to be chastised anymore, but a woman who had found herself with a sudden freedom, despite the tragic circumstances that had led to such freedom. "I will do it. With your blessing, preferably, but without it if I must. I can find Father's killer. Besides, there may be a match for me in the north."

Lysa pressed her lips together in a firm line, indicating her displeasure. Her daughter was more spirited than she liked – this attitude certainly wasn't from her father, so Lysa could only attribute such stubbornness to her brother Edmure.

"On your own head be it, Tamara."

* * *

"Tamara, I didn't expect to see you in court today." Robert Baratheon appeared utterly astonished to see the girl when she presented herself in the courtroom, perfectly aware that her mother had fled to the Eyrie with her younger brother during the night. Lysa had left twenty of her men behind in King's Landing for Tamara's wellbeing, but the others had all accompanied her. She had been very averse to leaving her daughter along in King's Landing, to be torn apart by the lions, but Tamara had left her little choice.

"Why is that, your Grace?" Tamara asked innocently.

"Don't play the fool, it doesn't suit you," Cersei said rather coldly from where she sat beside the iron throne in a somewhat smaller chair. Tamara shot her an icy look, her lip curling in contempt. How could there be any doubt that someone as conniving as the Queen had orchestrated Jon Arryn's death for her own advantage, whatever that might be?

"Quiet, woman," Robert growled, glaring at his wife, "Let the girl speak for herself. Tamara, you weren't aware that your mother and brother had fled back to the Eyrie last night?"

"I was, your Grace," Tamara admitted, smoothing the creases in her blue dress. Lysa had always said blue was a flattering colour on her, complementing her eyes. She was struck with a sudden longing for her mother, but she quickly pushed it aside. "However, I chose to remain in King's Landing. Should it please your Grace, I will gladly return to the Eyrie along with the rest of my family…"

"That won't be necessary." Robert waved a dismissive hand, before he leaned forward. "We're heading north in a matter of days, to see Ned Stark and his family. They're your family, too. Cousins? I thought so. Perhaps you wanted to accompany us. You're my ward now, Tamara. It's what Jon would have wanted, considering I was his ward. Gods, that seems like so long ago now."

"I would be glad to accompany you, your Grace." Tamara offered the King a saccharine smile, ignoring the hot fury that seemed to be pouring off the Queen in waves. Her blue eyes met Cersei's green ones, and she offered the Queen just as sweet a smile.

_ I know you killed my father. Gods know, before we return from Winterfell to King's Landing, I will find proof of it. _


	3. Wicked World

**Warnings: sexual harassment**

Tamara was not used to travelling. She had been in King's Landing most of her young life, but although the journey to Winterfell would take a month, she was far from perturbed. Perhaps it was foolish for her to dream of adventure, but there were other matters concerning her – the first and foremost of which was her father's death. Jon Arryn had not been a healthy or young man, but his death had still come as a shock, especially to his family. Tamara would be damned if she was to believe he had suddenly fallen ill.

She immediately made an enemy of the Queen. Cersei had offered Tamara a sweet smile and a place within the royal carriage to eat and gossip with herself and several other ladies of the court. However her green eyes had told Tamara that she was most unwelcome, so she had offered the Queen a smile that was just as saccharine, and politely declined the offer. The worst part about this was that Joffrey was also on horseback, and made a point of irritating her, unperturbed by her cold silence.

The royal convoy was a thing of great fascination to Tamara. Most of them moved at a snail's pace, and every now and then there would have to be a wheel changed or a stop made. Sometimes, men on horseback would gallop past bearing the Baratheon flag. Joffrey wasted no time in explaining that these were the scouting parties, sent ahead to make sure the way was clear for the royal party. A week into the journey, Tamara tired of Joffrey's attempts to make conversation and wondered if she would have been better off succumbing to the Queen.

When there were no inns to be found, the party would make camp. Tonight was such a night, and for some reason Tamara found it rather peaceful. Of course it wasn't in the general sense – the camp was almost three-hundred-strong and therefore there were always people strolling around and calling out to each other. Yet alone in her tent, with only the guards outside, Tamara felt that she was free, that she could be anywhere really. It was a comforting thought, until Ser Alek Toyle stepped into her tent.

"Pardons, my lady, but the Queen is here to speak with you."

Tamara could not help but tense. Speaking with Cersei was certainly not what she'd intended to do when she thought about relaxing. Sweeping her braid over her shoulder and attempting to look taller than her meager 5'4, Tamara lifted her chin and offered Ser Alek a brisk nod. The knight stepped back outside and moments later, the Queen entered and Tamara sank into a curtsy, her eyes never leaving Cersei's face.

"Your Grace. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You seem lost, Tamara." Cersei crossed over to Tamara's pitcher of wine, and the auburn-haired silently seethed. Yes, this woman was the Queen, but did she really have the right to simply enter her tent and act as though the place belonged to her? They were some way from King's Landing. "Do you miss your family?"

"I do, your Grace," Tamara replied carefully. She was not sure if the Queen was trying to imply something, but knowing Cersei, the woman had not just come to discuss her family for some pointless reason.

"Hmm." Cersei poured herself a glass of wine and took a delicate sip. "I suppose the Starks are your family, but you have never met them, have you?"

Tamara did not reply. What was the Queen hinting at? It could have been worse – at least she wasn't bringing up the dreaded subject of her potential marriage to Joffrey. It seemed Robert had been pushing that. Knowing Cersei, Tamara would not be good enough for her precious oldest son. She licked her dry lips.

"Your Grace?"

"Do you not wish to return to the Eyrie, to your home?" Cersei tilted her head, golden hair falling in a cascade over her shoulders as she observed Tamara critically. The auburn-haired girl was somewhat of a nuisance, a hindrance. Robert had been happy to take her as a ward, but Cersei didn't want Tamara snooping around the court. The girl was allegedly as paranoid as her mother.

"The Eyrie has never truly been my home," Tamara replied, a somewhat defiant spark entering her blue eyes. "I have spent most of my years in King's Landing."

The Queen pressed her lips together and Tamara realised, with some bitter satisfaction, that Cersei was not pleased with her answer. Yes, Tamara was an Arryn, but she could barely remember the cold halls of the Eyrie. Was she meant to lie, to say that she loved a place that meant barely anything to her?

"Has Robert spoken to you of a betrothal to Joffrey?" Cersei asked, setting the cup of wine down. Tamara's blood went cold and her shoulders stiffened, but she endeavoured not to show how much the notion of being Joffrey's wife perturbed her.

"No, your Grace," she murmured.

"Hmm." A cold smile tugged at the corners of Cersei's lips. "I think he believes it would be wise to marry Joffrey to Ned Stark's oldest daughter…her name escapes me. Yet she is thirteen, and likely will not bear him children for years to come. You, on the other hand, are already seventeen years old and a much more attractive prospect."

"Attractive how?" Tamara asked, her tone becoming somewhat icy and the polite 'your Grace' remaining firmly planted on her tongue instead of forcing its way between her lips.

"Well, you are a beautiful young woman." Cersei reached out and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind Tamara's ear, and she would have given anything to be able to slap the Queen's hand away from her face. "Not to mention that you are no doubt aware there is past…unpleasantness between the Starks and my own house. It would be preferable for my son to marry from a noble family such as yours."

"I thank your Grace for considering me," Tamara replied tightly, but she understood the truth. Her mother was becoming unhinged due to Jon's death, and she was far away in the Eyrie. Cersei believed that Tamara would be easier to control and manipulate, rather than a daughter of Ned Stark, who greatly mistrusted her already. But Tamara was fiercely determined to prove that although she was young, she was not the fool the Queen took her to be.

* * *

"You appear distracted, my lady." Ser Alek Toyle rode beside Tamara, watching as the girl stared out into the vast space that still lay between them and Winterfell. She snapped back into reality and glanced at Alek. The man had been one of her father's most loyal knights, and even now Lysa trusted him to serve Tamara, to lay down his life if the situation required such sacrifice.

"Apologies, Ser Alek." Tamara ran her tongue over her dry lips. "My thoughts were elsewhere."

"With your lord father?" Alek inquired carefully. He knew that the girl had never been truly close with Jon, but considering her mother's deteriorating mental state, there wasn't a lot Tamara had left. When the auburn-haired girl darted him a sharp glance, he realised he had overstepped his place and focused his attention on his horse's reins. "I'm sorry, Lady Tamara. It isn't my place to…"

"Do you think his death was suspicious?" Tamara asked quietly, glancing around to make sure that they wouldn't be overheard. She was almost certain that she could trust Alek, yet she didn't want to share her suspicions about the Lannisters. Such talk would certainly be considered treasonous, and there were spies everywhere, perhaps even on the Kingsroad.

"They say Lord Arryn died of natural causes," Alek replied slightly hesitantly, causing Tamara to cock her head to the side.

"Who says?"

Alek raked a hand through his pepper-and-black hair. "Grand Maester Pycelle. He was with your father until the fever took him. Do you…do you assume it could have been something else? I have had my suspicions, but…"

"You don't believe that's true." The words were a whisper. Tamara glanced around, noting Jaime was in conversation with Meryn Trant, another member of the prestigious Kingsguard. He caught her looking and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She quickly turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "Who do you think did it?"

Alek glanced around them, obviously uncomfortable. "I don't know that, my lady. I didn't say I think someone had murdered him. I just don't know that his death was completely natural is all."

Tamara sighed heavily. It seemed that Alek was too frightened to speak about the matter. She wondered, a devious little thought at the back of her mind, whether he knew more than he was letting on. She would stray from the matter for the time being, but return to it when she felt that Alek was more likely to answer her questions.

"Do you think it would be wise for me to marry Joffrey?" Tamara inquired, feeling almost defeated. Perhaps there was sense in her marrying him after all. If she was Queen, she would be on a level of power to rival Cersei – yet that wasn't until Robert died or abdicated. The thought was tempting – power had never appealed to Tamara before, but if power could help her find information to frame the Lannisters…would it be worth it?

"The Prince does not have a kind heart, my lady," Alek stated, and there was a firm warning in his tone. Anyone with eyes could see what Joffrey was really like. In the public eye he might try and maintain an image of charisma, but he could never hold it for too long considering his infamous temper. "You should be careful around him."

Tamara tossed back her hair. She thought Joffrey to be a coward. Doubtless, he would set the Hound onto anyone he deemed a threat, but he would never dare to hurt her, for the repercussions would be severe. In that way, she felt she had power to subtly goad him, knowing that he could not respond with the physical violence he so seemed to crave.

"He is a boy of sixteen," Tamara replied dismissively, "He poses me no threat."

"Not yet," Alek said darkly, lowering his voice, "But he is known for taking pleasure in violence, my lady, and who is to say he would not hurt you even if you did agree to become his wife? No, he may not be a threat now, but unless his sadistic side is curtailed, there is a chance of him becoming a threat in the near future."

* * *

The sound of flutes and violins rang out over the camp, but Tamara was far from surprised. It was only a week now until they were due to arrive in Winterfell, and Robert clearly wanted to celebrate accordingly. Cersei sat beside him at the table, lips pressed together in obvious disapproval. Yet after many hard days of travelling, Tamara agreed with the King – why should they not have some time to celebrate?

"Are you enjoying the feast, Lady Tamara?"

She glanced around to see that it was Renly Baratheon speaking to her. She had only met him a scarce few times before, as he was a member of the King's small council, and his youngest brother. He was only a few years older than her and a very lively young man. He enjoyed celebrations, as evidenced by the glimmer in his blue eyes. Had Renly taken any sort of interest in pursuing Tamara, she could see herself gladly accepting such advances.

"I am indeed." She leaned back in her chair. In the Eyrie, her mother would be tucking little Robin into bed by now. It would be very lonely there, with not the sort of numbers and heat that they were accustomed to in King's Landing. Tamara shook such thoughts from her mind. "I wasn't aware you had decided to accompany us to Winterfell, Lord Renly."

He laughed easily. "Robert would have had me stay in King's Landing, but I'd have found it awfully boring. I go where the music is."

Tamara couldn't help but laugh as well. She could understand Renly was drawn to the court, to the liveliness and the feasts and the dancing. She certainly did not shy away from such events, but there came a time at night where Tamara found herself tired, and wished to retire to her bed. In fact, she was beginning to reach that stage now. Wine tended to make her giddy and easy to laugh, yet once the high was over she came crashing down with a cloud of weariness hanging over her head.

"Forgive me, Lord Renly, but I think I will retire to my tent." Tamara gathered her skirts and pushed herself to her feet. She wore furs around her shoulders now, for the closer they got to Winterfell, the colder the weather became. Cersei had offered her a few old dresses, and although Tamara was dearly tempted to decline, she knew that doing so would be to openly insult the Queen. So she had reluctantly accepted, and smugly found that the Queen's dresses fit her rather nicely.

"Would you like me to walk you?" Renly offered, one hand resting on the back of his chair as though he was ready to push himself to his feet at a moment's notice. It was a gentlemanly gesture, but Tamara found herself shaking her head.

"No. Thank you anyway."

Tamara started back through the tents towards her own, the torches lighting her way. She could always recognise hers – both a Tully and an Arryn flag were hoisted up high and proud.  _ As high as honor.  _ Her house motto. She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, before a chill ran up her arms, causing goosebumps. She did not like this cold northern weather, as though winter had already set in.

"Tired already?"

The familiar voice made Tamara whirl around. She had only managed a few steps into her tent, and now she was thoroughly irritated to find Joffrey leaning against the flap with a goblet of wine in his hand. There was no doubt in Tamara's mind that the idiot boy was drunk. Why else would he follow her to her tent, a completely inappropriate act at the best of times? She sighed heavily, hands instinctively balling into fists.

"You startled me, my prince."

"Did I?" Joffrey moved closer to her, depositing his empty wine goblet on her table. Tamara watched him suspiciously, her heart's pace beginning to accelerate. She didn't trust Joffrey in the best of times, and she was wondering why he had followed her to her tent, of all places. She remained still as he tilted her chin up so that she was looking right at him. "Pretty, pretty Tamara."

She tensed at his grip as well as his words. Tamara valiantly attempted to maintain control of herself, but wasn't this what Alek had warned her about? She had been foolish, arrogantly assuming that Joffrey would never come after her alone. Yet when under the influence of wine, it would seem that the Prince did what he pleased. He was certainly more daring than when he was sober, and Tamara was afraid despite her fierce determination not to be.

"Father wants us to marry, as does Mother." Joffrey's breath was hot on her face, and stank of alcohol. A sly smirk spread across his lips. "I think I should like that. I think I would like to see what's underneath your dress. Will you show me?"

"How  _ dare _ you," Tamara spat, despite knowing that such a tone would get her into trouble. She felt humiliated at Joffrey's request, and also at her own powerlessness. Should she strike the Prince, she knew she would get into a lot of trouble. She was as angry at her helpless position as much as at Joffrey's despicable actions.

"Show me." It was a demand now, and Joffrey's grip shifted from her chin to her neck, squeezing tightly enough to make her choke. "Go on. Take your dress off. I won't touch you. I just want to look…for now."

Tamara gripped Joffrey's wrist and twisted, pushing him away from her and staggering backwards. She prepared herself for a backlash, but as Joffrey stepped forward with eyes glittering angrily, Ser Jaime entered the tent unannounced with a glittering necklace of sapphires in his hand. His attention was focused solely on Tamara.

"Lady Tamara." His tone was bored, but he raised an eyebrow as she glowered at him. "I believe you left this behind at the table. Lord Renly charged me with returning it to you."

Tamara knew he was lying for two reasons. The first was because if she'd left something behind, Renly would have had the grace to return it himself rather than asking a member of the Kingsguard to do it for him. The second was because she did not own any necklace of sapphires let alone the one Jaime clutched now.

"Of…of course," Tamara stammered, managing a hoarse laugh. "How silly of me."

Joffrey was not pleased at the interruption. He brushed past Jaime without so much as a word or a backwards glance at either of them. Only when he was gone did Tamara allow her shoulders to slump, and she examined Jaime with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion.

"It appears I owe you thanks. Why did you do that?"

Jaime shrugged, pocketing the necklace. "I noticed him follow you, and I thought that may attempt something indecent. You're lucky I came in when I did. You didn't appear happy with his advances."

"I wonder why that might be," Tamara said dryly, although she was more thankful than she would care to admit for Jaime's intervention. She did not think Joffrey would have tried to rape her, but there was no doubt in her mind that he intended to do other inappropriate things to her. "I did not think it was your duty to save women from those who mean them harm."

"Duty, no," Jaime drawled, folding his arms over his chest. In the dim torchlight, his golden hair seemed to glow, as did his armour – but she knew better than to think a man like Jaime Lannister to be her knight in shining armour. "But I am not as terrible a person as you seem to think. I know that you are uncomfortable with his advances, so I intervened. Did it ever strike you that perhaps, I don't know, I might not particularly  _ like _ seeing women abused?"

"There is no need for sarcasm," Tamara stated, a frown crossing her lips and steel creeping into her tone. She sighed heavily, raking a hand through her auburn hair. No matter Jaime's reasons, he  _ had _ saved her from Joffrey, and for that she was in his debt…and it was not a position she liked to be in at all.


	4. Warden of the North

**Warnings: none**

Their entrance into Winterfell was meant to be a grand event indeed, and Tamara could not help the concern that made her fidgety. She had never met the rest of her family before, although Lysa had often spoken of her older sister Catelyn and the five children she had with Ned Stark. There had always been a hint of bitterness there, and Tamara understood that her mother was jealous of her sister. Catelyn had five children – a son and heir, two lovely girls, and two younger sons as well. What did Lysa have but a sickly heir and a sole daughter? Tamara couldn't help but pity her mother's unfavourable odds.

The morning they were due to arrive in Winterfell, Tamara had a surprise visit from Cersei. The Queen had paid the old Hand's daughter as little attention as was possible, yet their imminent arrival meant that Cersei was all too eager to shower Tamara with renewed interest, as though this would prove to the Starks that an extension of their family was already an ally of hers. Cersei had gifted Tamara with a fine blue dress that matched her eyes wonderfully, and was thick enough to withstand the cold winter winds they had been experiencing of late.

"I had it made for you specially." Cersei bestowed a smile upon Tamara, and the auburn-haired girl knew that she was meant to tumble over herself in her gratitude and eagerness to thank the Queen. She reached out and touched the dress, acknowledging that the garment was indeed richly made. How Cersei had obtained Tamara's measurements was beyond her, but she supposed one of the seamstresses must know. But what in the seven hells were seamstresses doing accompanying them on the journey north?

"Thank you very much, your Grace." Tamara offered Cersei a sweet smile of her own. She made no comment on Joffrey's behaviour, because she had come to the conclusion some years past that Cersei would always turn a blind eye where her eldest was concerned. "It's a splendid dress. I was certainly wear it today in honour of our arrival in Winterfell."

Cersei had also offered Tamara a place in the royal wheelhouse, which she had politely declined. She wanted to be seen as an independent woman entering Winterfell of her own accord on horseback, not stuffed into some wheelhouse with all of the rest of the ladies. Alek had raised an eyebrow at this but Tamara had shaken her head, warning him not to comment on the matter while the Queen was still within earshot.

"How do you feel about the fact that you're going to be seeing them all today, my lady?" Alek inquired, watching Tamara as she pulled herself up onto her horse. She seemed more restless than usual, although whether this was because of Cersei's sudden interest in her once more or because she would finally meet her family was beyond him.

"A little nervous, I suppose," Tamara commented. She glanced around, watching as Jaime effortlessly swung a leg over his horse. She could not forget that he had saved her from an unpleasant situation, although she had not told Alek of what had happened. She had no wish to be shadowed by her guards everywhere she went. Jaime caught her gaze and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Tamara met his eyes momentarily, before she looked away. It would only be inviting trouble to show an interest in the Kingslayer.

* * *

Tamara could not help but admire how different Winterfell was from King's Landing as she rode in with the rest of the entourage. The Stark family and their household were assembled in the courtyard, and Tamara's eyes immediately sought out her aunt. Catelyn was not a hard woman to find – she bore herself with a regal grace, and had aged like a fine wine. Once Robert dismounted his horse, the entire assembly knelt before him, and Tamara wondered exactly how long it had been since Ned Stark had seen his childhood friend.

Joffrey appeared to have caught the gaze of a pretty young red-haired girl – she must be Catelyn's oldest daughter, Sansa. Tamara's eyes raked over the other Stark children as Robert gestured them for them to rise. Robb, the eldest, was certainly a handsome young man with his mother's colouring. Arya appeared to be quite the little tomboy judging from the muddied hem of her cloak. Bran was perhaps only a little smaller than his sister, whereas Rickon appeared to be no more than six. So, this was her family.

Alek dismounted his horse first and Tamara waited patiently for him to cross over to her and take her hand, assisting her in gracefully dismounting. Tamara waited until the royal family's introductions were done until she took a deep breath and stepped forward, ready for Alek to present her to her relatives.

"Lord and Lady Stark," Alek called, gesturing for Tamara to move closer. "May I present your niece, Tamara Arryn."

Catelyn appeared briefly puzzled, and Tamara had no doubts as to why. The poor woman was probably wondering where her sister and nephew were. Such questions would likely come later, away from the Queen's prying eyes and ears. Tamara bobbed a neat curtsy to her aunt and uncle, observing them closely. Ned looked haggard for a man of his years, but no doubt the numerous conflicts and responsibilities of Warden of the North had worn him down over the years.

"It's good to finally meet you, Tamara," Catelyn commented, bestowing a somewhat tired smile upon her niece. "You remind me of myself when I was a girl. I'm sorry about the loss of your father."

"I am just happy to be with family again," Tamara's eyes stopped momentarily on a young man a few years older than her who looked as though he was attempting to smile flirtatiously at her. He must be Theon Greyjoy, ward of the Starks and originally from the Iron Islands.

"We are more than glad to have you," Ned stated, exchanging a glance with a somewhat impatient Robert. "If you'll excuse me, his Grace is eager to pay his respects."

Pay his respects? Tamara was left somewhat confused, but Robb swiftly stepped forward to introduce himself, offering his cousin a gentle smile.

"I'm your cousin Robb, and heir to Winterfell. If you like, I can show you to your rooms. It would be nice to get to know you better, as we've never met."

"Thank you, Robb." Tamara couldn't help but smile. No doubt all of her cousins had been raised with the good manners expected of their high birth. "I would like that also."

* * *

Tamara had always rather enjoyed festivities, and the ones at Winterfell were quite different to what she was accustomed to at King's Landing. The environment in the dining hall was jovial and laid-back, and Tamara found that the atmosphere was somewhat more familiar than a celebration held in the great hall of the Red Keep. She sat between Robb and Theon, sipping delicately at her red wine. She had always rather preferred white, but she thought it would be rude to say so.

"Enjoying Winterfell, Tamara?" Theon inquired, leaning across to speak to her. A few of the court ladies had been gossiping about him earlier. Although she didn't normally abide by gossip, she had been finding that perhaps there was some truth to the words about Theon's promiscuity.

"I am indeed." Tamara leaned back in her chair, glancing at Sansa, who was shyly smiling at Joffrey across the table. Robb noted the direction of her gaze and tapped his cousin on the shoulder, gesturing to his sister and the Prince.

"Father informed me that they are betrothed," Robb muttered, and Tamara couldn't help but feel that a weight had been taken off her shoulders at her cousin's words. She thanked the seven that there was now practically no chance of her marrying Joffrey, although she did pity Sansa. The Stark girl was oblivious to Joffrey's true nature, but she would soon enough discover the truth.

"What of you, Robb?" Tamara offered him a slightly teasing smile. "Are you betrothed?"

"No, not yet," Robb admitted. Tamara thought on this, and wondered how she felt about her own situation. Would she marry soon? Her house was beginning to crumble, what with her father dead and her young brother Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East. Who would want to marry her? What power did she truly hold, if any?

Tamara was beginning to feel the wine getting to her. Admittedly, she hadn't even been watching her cousin refilling her goblet. How many drinks had she had now? She felt the usual warm fuzzy feeling, but she was also beginning to feel a little ill. Pushing herself to her feet, she excused herself and strode outside, hoping that the fresh air would help her manage to keep the vile stuff down.

"Tamara Arryn. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She glanced around, before her gaze found Tyrion Lannister leaning against a pole with a pitcher in his hand. Of course she was acquainted with the youngest Lannister sibling, however she and Tyrion had not spoken often. Cersei viewed him with contempt, while Jaime was relatively close with his younger brother. Tamara watched as he wandered over to her, taking a deep gulp from his pitcher.

"I'm just feeling a little ill," Tamara remarked, raking a hand through her auburn hair. Catelyn had been too busy speaking to the Queen, but that was to her benefit. One of Petyr Baelish's men had approached Tamara before the feast, pressing a small box into her hands and informing her that it contained a message for Catelyn's eyes only. Such secrecy made Tamara feel a little queasy, especially now.

"Ah, that tends to happen when one is not used to alcohol," Tyrion stated, raising a pitcher and taking another sip. "However, I do find that I'm quite adjusted to it. I've also heard that Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa. Such a  _ shame,  _ considering that it looked as though he may be betrothed to you for a time."

"A shame indeed," Tamara murmured, although she suspected Tyrion also knew that she was secretly rejoicing. She rather liked the youngest Lannister sibling despite herself, finding that he provided quite stimulating conversation. Of course, her mother would disapprove immensely, but Lysa was far away in the Eyrie.

"No doubt my sister will find you another fine man to marry," Tyrion remarked, his voice somewhat bitter upon mentioning Cersei.

Tamara could not help but feel troubled at the mention of the Queen finding her a husband. Was that not her mother's responsibility now that her father had passed away? However, Tamara had agreed to become Robert's ward, so that did mean Cersei had more power over her future than she would like to admit. What sort of husband would the Queen pick for her? Tamara shuddered to think of the possibilities.

"When do you intend to marry, Tyrion?" Tamara inquired, rather boldly. It wasn't truly her business, but she supposed the alcohol coursing through her veins gave her more nerve than she normally possessed.

"I'm not sure that I will marry. It's more of an 'if'. Besides, why would I deprive all the nice young working ladies of their income?"

Tamara fell into a somewhat awkward silence, realising he was talking about prostitutes. Of course it was something she was aware of, but not something she really needed to hear about. Tyrion seemed to realise he'd embarrassed the girl and he grimaced.

"Sorry. I'd forgotten who I was talking to for a moment. This is probably why my sister doesn't think I am socially acceptable at many occasions."

"It's alright," Tamara assured him, folding her arms around herself. Now the warm fuzziness had faded and she found herself quite cold. "I might retire for the night. It was good talking to you, Tyrion. I hope you enjoy the celebrations."

"I hope I enjoy them too," Tyrion replied dryly, "But I doubt there's much chance of that."

* * *

Tamara woke the next morning with a throbbing head and every other indication that she was suffering from a hangover. She groaned as she eased her body out of bed, but thankfully she didn't feel like she was going to vomit. She winced as her personal maid, Kailey, opened the curtains and exposed her to the mercy of the morning's bright light. Tamara resigned herself to the abrupt strokes of the brush as Kailey worked the tangles out of her auburn hair. She had no one to blame for her predicament but herself.

A knock on the door made Tamara grimace as Kailey finished with the laces of her dress, tying them in a tight bow before hurrying across to answer the door. Often Tamara answered her own door, hating to seem too lazy to even accomplish that, but this morning she was feeling rather off-colour. A few moments later, Alek Toyle swept into the room, his gait indicating that he had urgent business to discuss with his lady.

"Lady Catelyn wishes to speak with you, my lady."

"Now?" Tamara was a little astonished that her aunt had summoned her at such an hour. Of course it was likely past nine o'clock, but most of the household would still be recovering from the feast the night before.

"She insists that the business is of an urgent and private nature," Alek stated. By his bloodshot eyes, Tamara ruminated with some amusement that her guard had certainly enjoyed the previous night's festivities. Seeing no point in complaint, Tamara nodded and followed Alek at a brisk pace from the room.

It was only a short walk down the corridor to Catelyn's rooms, which Tamara very much appreciated. The Red Keep was a lot bigger than Winterfell, and one who did not know the corridors could find themselves lost before they reached their objective. Although Tamara did sometimes enjoy the space of having her own rooms away from everyone else, it could feel oddly lonely, knowing that it was some distance between her apartments and the next person's.

Upon entering her aunt's rooms, Tamara found that indeed, Catelyn was waiting for her. There was a small box clutched in her hands, one that Tamara found all too familiar. She swallowed, not realising there might have been some evidence incriminating her as the one who had delivered the box. What had been inside it? Perhaps Tamara had been a fool listening to the whispers of Lord Baelish's men.

"Do you agree with Lysa?" Catelyn asked, lowering her voice as Alek swept out and shut the door behind them, allowing them their privacy. "Do you believe the Lannisters had something to do with your father's death?"

Tamara realised that whatever had been in the box had not been from Lord Baelish at all, but from her mother. That was why his man had wanted  _ her _ to be seen delivering the box. The message inside must have related to Jon's death – and possibly stated that Lysa had returned to the Eyrie while Tamara had remained at King's Landing. Licking her lips, Tamara nodded slowly.

"Yes. It was far too…sudden, to be a normal death. My father was not young or incredibly healthy, but this illness just seemed to…eat him up from within. Clearly it wasn't natural."

Catelyn began to pace in distress. Tamara would have liked to ask to read the letter, but she didn't want her aunt knowing that she didn't know of its contents. If Catelyn knew other people had been in possession of the box, she would become even more alarmed.

"Robert has asked Ned to become Hand now that your father is dead," Catelyn confessed, something which did not astonish Tamara due to the fact that she'd known about the nature of their venture north. "I fear for his life now. I don't know why the Lannisters would want Jon Arryn dead, but Ned going to King's Landing could prove to be fatal."

Tamara nibbled at her lip. Of course she was well aware that she would be returning to King's Landing in a month with the rest of the royal party – and the Starks. As the old Hand's daughter, could she be in just as much danger as her father? Much as she suspected Lannister involvement, she was yet to find any incriminating evidence. The slow measures that she had to take made her impatient. When would justice be served?

"Perhaps I can help," Tamara suggested tentatively, "Ned is my uncle by marriage, and it would be in my best interest to serve him as faithfully as I can. Maybe…I could try and help him find out what my father knew before he died."

Catelyn observed the girl carefully. It was a bold move, especially for an unmarried young woman of seventeen. Tamara clearly liked to believe herself independent of her mother – but where that was true, she was also a ward of Robert Baratheon. While Robert would never mean Tamara harm, the same could not be said for his wife. If Cersei believed that Tamara knew something…

"No. It's far too dangerous. You would be better off to pretend you believe your father's death was truly an untimely illness."

Tamara sighed heavily, although she couldn't deny she had been anticipating this. Perhaps she did overestimate herself. Ned knew far more about Jon and Robert than Tamara could ever hope to, and the Starks held no love for the Lannisters. The best idea was to let her uncle carry out his investigations and keep an ear out for any information that could be valuable.


	5. The Truth Beneath The Rose

**Warnings: none**

"You wanted to speak to me?" Cersei inquired icily as she entered the room she shared with Robert. Due to the limited space available even within the great castle of Winterfell, it wasn't prudent for Cersei to have her own quarters. So she was forced to share a bed with her husband, every night attempting to suppress her distaste for his loud snoring and occasional snorts. It was rare of Robert to request a word with her, so she felt she had every right to be wary.

"Ah, wife," Robert grumbled, for once without a goblet of wine in his hand. Cersei wasn't sure whether she preferred him when he was a raving drunkard or not. "I wanted to speak to you about the Arryn girl. Tamara."

Cersei couldn't help but tense slightly. Although she put up with Tamara's presence for the sake of her husband's love for her father, she could not say that she was overly fond of the girl. Tamara's wits were sharp as a knife, although she still remained naïve about many worldly things. Her mother had been a wreck in the end, paranoid and wasting away until there was nothing but an empty husk of a woman left. It had been good for her to return to the Eyrie, in Cersei's opinion.

"What about her?" Cersei inquired.

"Now that Joffrey betrothed to the Stark girl, I think it's time we found her a husband." Robert turned from the window to face his wife. "Her mother doesn't trust your family. So I was thinking of giving her reason to."

"By marrying her into my house?" Cersei asked coolly. She was not a fool, and she knew what Robert meant to say next. The idea of Tamara becoming a Lannister was not one that greatly appealed to her.

"I was going to release your brother from his Kingsguard vows," Robert continued, which caused Cersei's green eyes to widen. "He'd be the heir to Casterly Rock, just like your father always wanted. It would be a good match."

"Jaime and that  _ girl _ ?" Cersei nearly spat the word. It didn't sound like a good match at all to her. Jaime was twice Tamara's age, and perhaps he was far too much in love with Cersei. Some part of her was slightly worried, worried that if they married, her brother's affections might turn and he might find himself falling for the younger woman…no. Love didn't change, no matter the circumstances. Cersei had a hold over Jaime, they had three children together, although it wasn't common knowledge.

"She is Jon Arryn's daughter," Robert reminded his wife in a growl. Of course, his dear Jon Arryn. No one could ever speak ill of the man in front of Robert. Cersei observed him coldly, wondering how she could possibly sway her husband from making this decision. Perhaps the most irritating thing was that she knew her father Tywin would agree with Robert's choice. House Arryn was crumbling, yet Tamara still stood. With Jon Arryn's eldest child in their control, the Lannisters would be able to extend their power to the east.

"Lysa will never agree to this," Cersei stated, attempting to play the concerned mother card. It was true – Lysa despised the Lannisters and the idea of her daughter marrying Jaime would not be something that appealed to her in the slightest, even with Robert intending it as a gesture of creating peace between the two families.

"She doesn't have to," Robert responded irritably, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Tamara is my ward. I am the King. My authority overrules her mother's. Besides, she is a young woman now. She has the ability to decide for herself what she wants."

Cersei knew what it was like to be Tamara. She knew what it was like to be a girl with wide, innocent eyes betrothed to a handsome and powerful young man. She knew what it was like to have her dreams shattered before her eyes. Perhaps that was another, slightly more sentimental reason she didn't want Tamara to marry Jaime – because she was painfully aware of what it was like to marry a man who could never love you.

"What if Tamara decides that she doesn't want to marry Jaime?" Cersei asked quietly, but with a definite hint of steel lacing her tone. Of course, she didn't think that if the proposal came from the King that Tamara would possibly object. Who would risk the wrath of Robert Baratheon?

"Her father would have thought it a respectable match," Robert replied, as though that solved everything. Cersei didn't think what Jon Arryn wanted mattered much, because Jon Arryn was dead. "Honestly, woman, why can't you see the good in this? Tamara and your brother will make handsome children. Everyone's happy, apart from Lysa, and she'll come around."

_ I'm not happy, _ Cersei thought bitterly, but that had never mattered much to Robert. If Robert released Jaime from his vows and had him wed Tamara, would he go back to Casterly Rock, where they'd grown up? Cersei didn't think she could bear the idea. She would never see her brother, never feel his loving embrace. Instead there would only be Robert and her cold bed.

"At least let me tell Jaime about this," Cersei insisted. She could break the news far more gently than Robert. Besides, Jaime disliked the King, and hearing the news from Robert would only serve to make him sour.

"Fine, fine." Robert waved a careless hand to indicate that the discussion was over, and Cersei slipped from the room without another word. She twisted her hands anxiously. What would Jaime make of the situation? He had never truly wanted to be in the Kingsguard anyway, but of course Aerys had deprived Tywin of his beloved heir on purpose. Would Jaime be relieved at relinquishing his position? What would happen when she told him the cost it came at?

* * *

"You seem so anxious." Jaime watched his sister lazily as she wrung her hands, a typical Cersei habit when there was something on her mind. Of course, she had seemed out of sorts since she'd told him that they needed to talk. Normally that was a façade and they ended up sneaking out somewhere to have sex, but this time it would appear that the talking part was literal.

"Robert wanted to speak to me. About the Arryn girl."

Jaime sighed heavily. He knew that Cersei held little love in her heart for Tamara. Jaime honestly didn't care. He was…indifferent. Tamara Arryn was just the daughter of the King's former Hand. He didn't see why Cersei got so worked up about her some of the time. Now his sister was pacing, eyes wide with worry.

"What about her now?" Jaime asked wearily.

"He wants you to marry her."

The words made Jaime freeze. As a member of the Kingsguard, it was impossible for him to hold lands, marry or father children. Although, he had technically not abided by the latter part there. However, this would mean that Robert intended to revoke his title as member of the Kingsguard. He would be once again Tywin's heir, future lord of Casterly Rock. There were all of those things, but perhaps the biggest part that he hadn't considered was marrying Tamara and producing an heir of his own.

"Are you certain of this?"

"I was just talking to him," Cersei replied impatiently, planting her hands on her hips. Jaime remembered that his sister had a tendency to snap when her nerves were frayed. "Yes, I'm certain. He thinks it is a wise match."

Jaime couldn't help but scoff. He wasn't overly enthusiastic about the prospect of marrying the girl. Tamara was far from unattractive, but it wasn't simply about how she looked. Lysa Arryn was her mother. There was a good chance Tamara had inherited at least some of her mother's overly paranoid tendencies.

"Do you think so?"

"I think it would keep Lysa Arryn in check," Cersei admitted ruefully. She didn't like the idea any more than Jaime did, however she did think that Lysa would never raise a hand against the throne if she thought her daughter might be harmed because of it. "In some ways, yes. It is a wise decision."

"Yet you don't want it," Jaime stated quietly. It was the truth – neither of them wanted him to get married. Jaime had been content with his station in life. Perhaps not exactly happy, but content. Cersei was unhappy, but he was her solace. Now, everything was going to change. All because of one of Robert Baratheon's ridiculous ideas.

"Neither do you," Cersei shot back at him. She could not imagine Jaime being with anyone who wasn't her. The notion seemed like turning the world upside down. "Well? What are you going to say to my husband? Will you go through with it?"

"Do I have any choice?" Jaime sighed heavily. He could not see Tywin disagreeing with Robert on this. He had been angry to be deprived of his heir, and the idea that Jaime could marry a young woman from an old, proud family such as House Arryn would certainly appeal to him.

Cersei considered momentarily. "No."

* * *

Tamara had been thinking furiously over the past few days since they had arrived at Winterfell. Well, in her spare time. Catelyn was determined to get Tamara to spend time with her cousins – especially Robb and Sansa, who were closest to her age. Yet her mind couldn't help but dwell on the Lannisters. What had her father known that was so dangerous it could get her killed? As Tamara was braiding her hair, Alek crossed over to her, a thoroughly unimpressed expression on his face.

"Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with you, in private."

Tamara could not help but feel slightly concerned. What business could Jaime Lannister have with her? She finished her neat braid and took a deep breath, nodding slowly. Why he wanted to see her was completely beyond her, but it would be rude of her to ignore such a request. She followed Alek over to the door, watching as he strode briskly out. Moments later, Jaime Lannister entered her rooms in all of his golden-armoured splendor.

"Tamara."

Of course – Lady Arryn was a title that people of Jaime's station used only for her mother. Tamara drew herself up to full height, although she was embarrassingly aware that she was nearly a foot smaller than Jaime.

"Jaime. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The pleasure?" Jaime offered her a somewhat mocking smile. "Do I give you  _ pleasure _ ?"

Tamara felt her cheeks heating up as her lips struggled to work out some inadequate reply. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. Was this the only reason Jaime was here, to mock her? She knew that her cheeks must be about as red as her hair.

"I…I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Of course not." Jaime inspected Tamara with the hint of a taunting smirk still playing about the corners of his lips. "How much do you know of the world? Did you mother tell you about marriage? About what it's like to make love to a man?"

"I don't think this is an appropriate topic of discussion," Tamara said tersely, a frown overcoming her face. She did not know why Jaime insisted on mocking her so, but she found it to be rather rude of him. She especially didn't think it was at all proper to ask a young lady if she'd been told about lovemaking. Of course, Lysa had given Tamara some pointers, but she had always supposed her mother would go into more detail when she actually became betrothed.

"I think it's entirely relevant," Jaime drawled, "Considering the King has practically decreed that we are to be married."

"What?" Tamara gasped. The words seemed to knock everything out of her, until she found that she might lose her balance. Robert had decided that she was to marry  _ Jaime Lannister _ ? She sat down heavily, pressing her hands into her skirts and twisting hard. Her mother despised the entire Lannister family. She would never agree to such a matter…but, Tamara thought with growing dread, Lysa's approval was not required.

"Yes, it was quite a shock to me as well," Jaime stated, although he sounded nothing but calm. Tamara's thoughts swirled together in a whirlwind. If she married Jaime, she would practically be part of the Lannister family. She would be  _ trusted _ . If she was trusted, she would be able to find out what had truly happened to Jon Arryn. Even if the Lannisters weren't at least partially responsible, they would likely know who was.

"When are we to be married?" Tamara asked, her voice far stronger than the rest of her felt. Her limbs felt weak, and she was certain that if she stood again, she would collapse. She could not take that sort of humiliation in front of a man who could possibly be her future husband. Instead she remained seated, hoping that Jaime could not see how much the idea of marrying him unsettled her.

"Soon after our return to King's Landing, I would say." Jaime's tone was casual, but Tamara thought her heart may have skipped a beat. It seemed so soon – they were only in Winterfell a month, and then there was only a month's journey in return to King's Landing. She suddenly felt sick, bile rising in her throat as she tried desperately to remain composed.

"I…I don't know what to say."

"It's quite simple." Jaime folded his arms over his chest. "You can either say yes or no."

Tamara knew that to say no would not only earn the enmity of the Lannisters, but it would also offend Robert. She could think of nothing worse than unintentionally insulting the King. It was not the decision she would have liked to make, but perhaps it was for the better. Things occurred unexpectedly, and it was the will of the gods and her King that meant she was to marry Jaime Lannister.

"Yes," Tamara whispered, before she looked up at him and raised her voice. "My answer is yes."

* * *

It was not often that Lysa received letters these days, and so when she did get a raven she could not help but feel some slight excitement. Perhaps it was Petyr, informing her of the developments in King's Landing. It could even be Tamara. Lysa hoped more than anything that her daughter would write to her. She missed Tamara dearly, and although she respected her daughter's choice, she also begrudged her for choosing King's Landing.

However, upon receiving the letter and reading over it, Lysa's hands clenched into small fists of anger. She tore the paper to shreds, feeling her fury rising as her mind recounted the letter's content. How dare the Lannisters. How  _ dare  _ they. She thought of her dear Tamara, so naïve and vulnerable. Lysa had been the same once. She did not feel any better for being wiser about the world.

The letter stated that Tamara was to marry Jaime Lannister when she turned eighteen – four months away. It seemed such a short timeframe. Although in the letter Robert insisted that Tamara had agreed to the decision, Lysa was not so certain. Words written on paper could never be granted as true. She knew what it was like to be a victim of her gender, to be married to a man much older who she did not love. Lysa would not have her daughter suffer her fate.

Lysa had loved Petyr Baelish dearly, secretly. She still thought of what might have become of their child, had it been allowed to alive. Would she have given him a son? A healthy son, as she had unwittingly denied Jon Arryn? The thought made her feel warm inside, and then abruptly cold. There was no use dwelling on what had never been. Lysa focused on her daughter, on her beloved Tamara, who even now was being pressured into the same kind of union that Lysa herself had faced.

Perhaps there could be some good from this marriage. Jaime was of an age with Lysa, but he was still young and handsome. Maybe he could make Tamara happy as Jon had been able to make Lysa…yet she doubted it. Jaime was a Lannister, and they were all conniving, liars. None of them could be trusted, and Lysa thought that the best that could happen was Tamara getting her heart broken. The worst…well, she didn't like to think of it. Tywin Lannister was a powerful man, and if Tamara went against the grain, she could end up disappearing.

Her daughter was a strong young woman. She had spirit, yet Lysa felt helpless. She had no power in this whatsoever. She had been informed that her daughter was to marry Jaime, by the King's own decree. Why would Robert think of such a thing? Did he think Jon had trusted the Lannisters, or was it all about connecting powerful houses? Lysa was not certain…but she intended to find out.


	6. Keep Your Enemies Closer

**Warnings: none**

The news that Bran had fallen from one of the abandoned old towers added only served to add more stress to Tamara's time in Winterfell. She had been striving to enjoy herself, however her forthcoming wedding to Jaime Lannister was enough to sap her of any energy she had once possessed. Tamara did her best to disguise her negativity from others such as her cousin Sansa, however it was more difficult to hide her joylessness from Robb. Her oldest cousin had questioned her quietness on several occasions, causing Tamara to employ a variety of excuses. She was tired, she was feeling ill.

The Lannisters seemed to be paying her more attention than ever, and it wasn't just Jaime. Cersei took many opportunities to question Tamara to the point where the girl felt as though she was being interrogated. Was the Queen attempting to judge whether she was a suitable wife for her twin brother? Tyrion also spoke more frequently with Tamara, although she did not mind this. Always one for a battle of wits, she always found herself beaten by Tyrion's sharp tongue…not that she was complaining.

But upon hearing the grave news from Theon Greyjoy, Tamara was all too quick to hurry to her young cousin's side. Bran appeared so small tucked up underneath the blankets, so horribly pale that Tamara couldn't help but fear the worse. Catelyn was hysterical, so Tamara turned to her uncle Ned, her blue eyes full of askance.

"He is alive," Ned said, his tone heavy, "But Maester Luwin does not know whether he will remain that way. In any case, he will have lost the use of his legs permanently."

Tamara pressed her hands over her mouth, at a loss for words. She would not have wished anything so awful upon her worst enemy let alone her little cousin. She moved to tentatively sit beside Catelyn, who was sobbing softly to herself. Hesitantly, Tamara reached out and put her arms around her aunt. It was odd to think that such a tragedy made her feel even closer to the Starks than before. Perhaps it was in the darkest times that people truly gathered together.

"I'm so sorry," she stated, over and over again. It felt like there was nothing else she could say. Tamara had never felt so helpless, so at a loss to make things better. She could not rectify this, and no words would help her to make it right. "I'm so sorry, Aunt Catelyn."

* * *

Tamara had her own private session of frustration that night, hitting at inanimate objects with her fists in a way of venting her anger and sadness. Surely the Seven would not allow Bran to die, it was unthinkable. What had he ever done that would give cause for such a horrific thing to be deserved? She had barked orders at Alek to keep out, which he had accepted understanding that his lady wished her time to grieve for the day's occurrences. So when there was a sharp knock on her door, Tamara swept over to answer it in a swirl of blue skirts.

"Alek, I told you…" she snapped, wrenching the door open only to pause.

"I'm not Alek," Jaime drawled, standing before her with his arms folded over his powerful chest. Tamara lapsed into silence, unable to help it as her cheeks flared with embarrassment at the sight of her betrothed. At first his rather plain clothing made her do a double take. Then she remembered he was still a member of the Kingsguard, and would only be stripped of his vows on the day before they were married.

"I realised as much," Tamara replied coolly, planting her hands on her hips. She was well aware that her eyes were no doubt red and puffy due to her tears. Her tense body posture should let him know that he was not welcome, however Jaime appeared either not to notice, or not to care, for he sauntered into her room and glanced about the place.

"Your quarters are nicer than mine."

"I did not invite you into my rooms, ser," Tamara said icily. She resisted the urge to grab Jaime's arm and whirl him around to face her. It had become quite clear to her that this man did as he pleased and seemed to think that there would be no consequences. Well, he was a Lannister. His father was the richest man in the seven kingdoms, and his sister was the Queen. She seethed in silent fury at his nerve.

"Yes, but you are my betrothed. I didn't think it was necessary." Jaime arched an eyebrow calmly, before a lazy smirk spread across his lips as he realised how red Tamara had gone, her thoughts no doubt dwelling to improper places. "Relax, sweet Tamara. I don't have any untoward intentions. I simply wished to speak with you. We are to be married, should we not get to know each other a little better?"

"I wouldn't mind marrying a perfect stranger," Tamara shot at him, incensed that he had picked up on where her mind had dwelled. She couldn't help it – of course she knew Jaime would not want to make love to her, but she had immediately assumed the worst at him visiting her alone with the claim that he didn't need her permission to enter her rooms.

"Perhaps I would," Jaime responded, before his expression became somewhat sympathetic. "I heard about what happened to Bran. I'm truly sorry about your loss."

"You speak as though he's dead." Tamara folded her arms. She had not minded Jaime during her time during King's Landing, but perhaps that was because she had only ever seen him from a distance. The more she found out about the Kingslayer, the less she liked him.

"It may have been better," Jaime said grimly, his green eyes solemn, "A clean death is better than a life of pain, which he will no doubt experience. He's never going to regain the use of his legs, did you know that?"

Tamara dearly wished that she could slap him, but internally scolded herself for thinking such violent thoughts. Jaime shared his point of view as though that was the only perspective that mattered. She thought that living in itself was a gift, and that if Bran couldn't use his legs, they would find a way around it. Suffering didn't necessarily mean that an end had to come out of it.

"I did know that, Jaime," Tamara responded tightly, before noticing that Alek had entered her quarters unannounced. She frowned at the second interruption within the hour, but then noticed that her guard had a scroll of unopened parchment in his hand.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady." Alek bowed his head slightly, but his eyes held no warmth when they landed on Jaime. "It's a letter from the Eyrie. From your mother."

_ To my dearest Tamara, _

_ I hope that I find you safe and well in Winterfell. It is good to know that you are staying with my sister Catelyn and her children, as I regret that you had never met your cousins before now. But while I am pleased to see you reunited with our family, there has been news from the Lannisters that has troubled me greatly. _

_ I received a letter from the Queen herself, stating that you are to marry her brother Jaime soon after your eighteenth birthday – and there is nothing that enrages me more than to know you are betrothed to such an awful and dishonest man. My sweet girl, I know there is little I can say to soothe you, as I cannot overturn the words of her Grace. Just know that my heart goes out to you, and while I will do all in my power to see this decision reversed, I have little faith in my success. _

_ Enemies are everywhere, Tamara. Do not think that the Lannisters trust you by inviting you to join their house through marriage, for it is a scheme of power and nothing more. Watch them closely, especially your betrothed. Do not trust what they tell you, for only lies come from the mouths of lions. _

_ Your loving mother, _

_ Lysa _

"Is she completely mad?" Tamara vented, crumpling up the letter and shoving it hastily into the fire. While she was grateful for the excuse to have stopped speaking with Jaime, her mother's words had been very risky indeed. If that letter had fallen into the wrong hands…well, Tamara shuddered to think of the consequences. She didn't think that such strong words merited a reply. She spun to face Alek. "Do you think she has lost her mind?"

Alek shrugged. "It is entirely possible. Your mother was quite unstable after the death of your father."

Tamara shook her head slowly, watching with relish as the parchment burned. It would not do to have prying eyes looking over the letter. First it had been Lysa's message to Catelyn, and now to her. She certainly did not trust the Lannisters, although Tamara had to scoff at some of her words. Did her mother think that she was a lamb, to walk so willingly into a trap created by the lions? Tamara may only be seventeen, but she had motives of her own. She had not forgotten nor forgiven her father's death, and even Bran's fall was beginning to look suspicious.

"We return to King's Landing within the week." Alek's words drew Tamara from her reverie and she was rather startled. Had they actually been in Winterfell for a month? It was difficult for her to come to terms with. Time seemed to have flown by. She knew that Catelyn and her sons, Robb, Bran and Rickon, would remain in Winterfell. Jon Snow was headed for the wall. Sansa and Arya would accompany their father south.

"The Stark family has been rent apart by this tragedy," Tamara murmured. The letter in the flames had become no more than ashes now. "I only hope I can show Ned and the girls the same courtesies in King's Landing that they have shown me in Winterfell."

"Do not forget your duty," Alek reminded her, his voice becoming somewhat heavy. "You read your mother's letter. You will be wed to Jaime Lannister, not two months after our return."

It was a frightening prospect to Tamara, especially considering her very real fear that her husband-to-be might have been involved in Bran's devastating fall. Lysa was suspicious of the Lannisters, and there were certain things that Tamara had in common with her mother – this being one of them.

"Is there no way I can be free of it?" Tamara inquired uncertainly. Yes, she had agreed to marry Jaime, but there had always been a slight hope there that the betrothal would be reversed. Of course, she preferred the thought of marrying the Kingslayer rather than Joffrey…but it was still not a desirable prospect to her.

Alek heaved a sigh. Sometimes he wished that he was less honest, that he could tell Tamara what she wanted to hear rather than the cold, hard truth. But he could not in good conscience lie to her and give her a sense of false hope. When he spoke, his tone was grim.

"I wish there was, my lady. Truly, I do."

So there was nothing then. Tamara pressed her lips together in a hard line and tried not to despair. If she truly was condemned to marry into the Lannister family, then she would do so with the grace expected of her.  _ As high as honour.  _ Those were the Arryn words, and she intended to follow them to the letter. Yet despite her best intentions, she found her mind desperately screaming the Tully words:  _ Family, duty, honour. _

Her father's house put honour before everything else, while her mother's house had family and duty before it. Yet her mother had seemingly abandoned her, and her duty was to do as the King instructed. Tamara took a deep breathe, nails digging into the tender flesh of her palms.

Honour it was.

* * *

"Are you sure that you don't wish to stay here?" Catelyn inquired as she embraced her niece tightly. It had been like a breath of fresh air having Tamara in Winterfell, although the girl had grown more solemn after becoming betrothed to Jaime Lannister. Catelyn could not blame her, but Tamara had begged her aunt to leave the matter alone. She clearly did not wish to discuss it, and so Catelyn had respected her wishes in that particular aspect.

"I can't." Tamara sighed heavily, raking her auburn hair out of her eyes. She did love Winterfell despite the cold conditions, for the people there were far warmer than those she knew from King's Landing. She also wished to stay to see whether Bran would recover, but unfortunately that wasn't an option. "I am to marry Jaime Lannister in a matter of months, and preparations will commence as soon as we return to the capital."

Catelyn nodded slowly, braving a smile. "But of course. I hope that we will be able to attend the celebrations, but I fear that…if Bran has not recovered…"

"Aunt Catelyn." Tamara placed her hands on the slightly taller woman's shoulders. "I understand if you are not able to come. I only hope that my own mother will attend the wedding despite her own hatred of the Lannisters."

"I'm sure that she will," Catelyn stated, banishing her own misgivings. Her sister was a much changed woman since Jon Arryn's death, and she couldn't even be sure that Lysa would attend her daughter's wedding considering her paranoia. Nonetheless, she gave her niece one last embrace and pulled away, examining her with warm blue eyes. "I wish you the very best. Please watch out for Sansa, and especially Arya."

Tamara couldn't help but laugh. "I'll do my best to turn her into a proper lady, much as she'll object."

"They say parting is such sweet sorrow." Cersei crossed over to the two auburn-haired women, with one of those saccharine smiles across her face that didn't quite reach her green eyes. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Lady Stark. However, I'd like to have a word with Tamara."

There could be no refusing the Queen. Tamara cast a last, forlorn glance back at her aunt before she reluctantly followed Cersei away from the bustling commotion to a quieter location. There was a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach and she wondered why the Queen would possibly wish to speak to her alone. It must have something to do with her betrothal to Jaime.

"How are you feeling, Tamara?" Cersei inquired in what was no doubt meant to be a maternal tone. However, Tamara was certain that the Queen did not like her in the least, and therefore took no value in anything she said. The question caught her off-guard and she blinked a few times before responding.

"I am well, your Grace. Why do you ask?"

"It seems you have been miserable this last month," Cersei stated, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress. She regarded the girl closely, tilting her head to the side. "Since your betrothal to dear Jaime."

"I…" Tamara wasn't quite sure what to say. She didn't want to offend her betrothed and she certainly didn't want to offend the Queen. She swallowed her pride and nodded slowly. "I apologise if it seems that way, your Grace. I am truly grateful for the opportunity to become a part of your family, and I did not mean to appear otherwise. I have merely been…acclimatizing myself to the news, and my current situation."

Cersei threw back her head and laughed, although Tamara couldn't help but wince at the lack of mirth in the sound.

"Sweet Tamara, it appears that you are already becoming quite the talented liar. But you are to marry my brother, and that means we should be honest with each other, don't you think? So now, the truth. What it is about this arrangement that upsets you so? Is it my brother's age in comparison with your own?"

Tamara considered that momentarily. Yes, Jaime was twice her age, but that was not a very concerning factor. Her own father had been a lot older than her mother, so a mere seventeen year difference made Tamara glad that she would not be marrying a much older man.

"I want to know why," she stated bluntly, looking the Queen right in the eye. "I know that you don't approve of me as a match for Ser Jaime. So why are you going ahead with the decision?"

Cersei offered Tamara a chilling smile. "Because, my dear girl, we like to keep our friends close…and our enemies closer still."

With that, the Queen turned on her heel and trailed back over towards the royal party, leaving Tamara to contemplate her words. So they were marrying her to Jaime in order to ensure that she did not rebel? What gave them reason to believe that she would? There was something missing from the puzzle, a piece that Tamara needed to find…and yet again, she had the feeling that their desire for her complete cooperation stemmed from her father's death. Yet, why were the Lannisters so concerned if they were not in some way involved?

Raking a hand through her hair in frustration, Tamara headed back towards the others. On the return journey, she was determined to spend as much time with her uncle and cousins as possible…while still managing to keep a close eye on the Lannisters. Cersei had been relatively open with her for once, but that didn't mean that the Queen was being entirely truthful.


	7. World On Fire

Since her return to King's Landing, Tamara had been frantic. The entire capital was a flurry of motion in preparation for the wedding, but in her mind she was still searching for an escape. It was now two and a half months until she was to marry Jaime, and although Tamara could certainly see the benefits in such an arrangement, it angered her to realise that the Lannisters would be the ones to choose her husband – a match that she was certain her mother would never approve of.

"You will marry Jaime here in King's Landing, before venturing to Casterly Rock." Sansa sounded breathless, blue eyes wide as she recounted the details that Tamara was all too painfully aware of. At least in King's Landing, she had some family. But at Casterly Rock she would be alone, surrounded by Lannisters. By people she couldn't trust. "Isn't it so exciting, Tamara?"

"I suppose," Tamara murmured. She was certainly glad to have her cousins in the south with her – it made for more agreeable company. However, she knew that Sansa was too young to understand the intense dislike between Lysa Tully and the Lannisters. Arya…well, the girl pulled faces at the discussion of a wedding alone let alone the implications of it.

"I am to be married to Joffrey, so we will be doubly related," Sansa declared, tossing her auburn hair back and speaking in a manner that said she had likely thought about this. "You will not only be my cousin, but also my aunt. Is that not strange?"

"My lady." Alek's timely intervention stopped Tamara from having to reply to any more of Sansa's enthusiastic rhetorical questions. She wasn't certain if she had ever been more grateful to see him. "Lord Baelish has requested an audience with you. He's waiting out in the gardens."

Tamara instinctively smoothed back her auburn hair, suddenly somewhat anxious. She had not seen Petyr, her mother's childhood friend, since she had left for Winterfell. Likely much had changed within three months – events in the capital tended to move quite fast. There was also the fact that there were some within the capital who whispered that Petyr had quite the fascination with Tamara. She wasn't sure whether to believe such gossip or not.

"Tell him I'll be there in a moment," Tamara replied, before turning to face her young cousin. "We'll speak later, Sansa."

She spun on her heel and swept from the room, pondering why Petyr Baelish would possibly want to speak with her. Her heart began to beat a faster tempo as she considered the possibilities. Petyr was an old friend of her mother's. Perhaps he had discovered some information about Jon's death. The thought plagued Tamara as she descended the steps into the gardens, despite her attempts to shake it off.

"Lord Baelish," Tamara called to the man waiting in the gardens. He turned and offered her one of those almost mocking half-smiles of his, inclining his head to her. Petyr was perhaps slightly younger than Lysa, although there were already silver streaks in his dark hair. He was not overly tall, being not even a head taller than Tamara. As the auburn-haired girl approached, Petyr took her hand and planted a kiss atop it.

Tamara didn't even flush. "Petyr, there is no need to be formal. Were you and my mother not very close? Should that not give cause for some sort of familiarity between us?"

"Things change, Lady Tamara," Petyr responded, releasing her hand and taking a step back. "Especially considering the recent news of your betrothal to Jaime Lannister."

Tamara heaved a sigh. It seemed that the news had travelled the capital, although know Petyr he would have known before anyone else. Lysa always said that Petyr had his spies. The thought made Tamara shiver, for she did not like the notion of being watched. However, she decided to use Petyr's network to her own advantage, gnawing at her lip before stepping closer.

"What do you know about that? Is there some particular reason that the Lannisters want me to wed Jaime? He's a member of the Kingsguard; I wasn't aware that it was something that they would forsake so lightly. Have you heard anything?"

"Indeed I have." A smile tweaked at the corner of Petyr's lips. "Everyone knows House Arryn is crumbling. The only remaining remnants are you – forgive me, but a woman is hardly seen to be a worthy claimant – and your sickly younger brother, who many believe may not see adulthood. If your brother was indeed to perish, that would make you sole heir of the Eyrie – not something to be taken lightly, especially when it comes with the title of Warden of the East."

"So the Lannisters think I will bring Jaime power." Tamara ruminated over this. Tywin was Warden of the West and although the man showed no signs of getting any closer to dying, once he did die, it would mean Jaime would inherit the titles of Warden of the West  _ and _ Warden of the East. His twin sister was the Queen Regent, his nephew the King…Tamara felt herself turning to ice. Her husband could easily become one of the most powerful men in Westeros, if he was not already.

"It would seem so," Petyr stated dryly, watching the auburn-haired girl's reaction with a critical gaze. "There is also news that Tywin has departed Casterly Rock, along with a large entourage. This may well be the biggest wedding Westeros has seen since the marriage of Robert Baratheon to Cersei Lannister."

Tamara was not a weak woman by any means, but she had to lean against the ledge and catch her breath for a moment. The urge to scream was stronger than ever. The way Petyr put it, all eyes in Westeros would be on her. She could not flinch, she could not fail. She could show no signs of her hidden agenda, of her desire to investigate the Lannisters and learn why they had killed her father. She could trust very people – but she felt that she could trust Petyr. Many didn't, but Lysa had been close with him. Why would he betray Tamara?

"There is something I must tell you." Tamara licked her lips and took a deep breath, her corset feeling far too tight around her chest. Petyr had placed a hand on her arm lightly, as though concerned she might faint. "It is not something I would say to very many people, but I am trusting you, Petyr. Am I right to do so?"

"In the case of most people, I would say that mistrusting me is wise," Petyr replied with the flash of an almost sinister smile. "However, your mother's interests have always been…close to my heart. So the same can be said of you."

Tamara released the breath she didn't even know she had been holding.

"I believe that…I believe the Lannisters may be responsible for my father's death. I intend to find out the truth."

Tamara had expected that Petyr would agree with her decision, or perhaps urge to be careful. However at her words, his expression changed completely to something quite like alarm. His grip on her arm tightened and his eyes were suddenly alight with something fervent.

"Those are dangerous words, Lady Tamara," he muttered, glancing around the gardens as though to ensure they were not overheard. "I would strongly advise against such action. The Lannisters are not people to cross, for anyone, let along for the young woman marrying into their family."

Considering Petyr's words, Tamara supposed he was right – but that wasn't going to stop her. She would just have to be incredibly discrete. She would give Jaime no reason to doubt her, play the loyal wife. It would be a painfully long process, but in the end, she hoped her patience would pay off. She took a deep breath and offered Petyr a smile she hoped he would buy.

"You're right. It's far too much of a risk. It was foolish of me to suggest."

"I understand that you want vengeance." Petyr took Tamara's hands in his own. They were smooth, but clammy. "But leave that to others who know better how to play the game. You are young and your mother would hate for me to willingly allow you to endanger yourself."

"I thank you for your concern." Tamara withdrew her hands from Petyr's, feeling nervous for a reason she could not place. Was it because she was lying to him, and intended to pursue answers no matter what? "I should retire now, however. I have to prepare for dinner with my family."

* * *

Dinner with the Starks was an interesting an affair as Tamara had anticipated. Sansa and Arya bickered over the table, while Ned sighed but largely remained silent. He looked somewhat miserable, definitely haggard. Tamara thought he must miss his wife and sons dearly. However, she did wish that Sansa would stop talking about the wedding, as she seemed so prone to doing.

"I think I should wear a blue dress, don't you?" Sansa sighed, setting down her knife and fork. "Blue would go beautifully with my eyes and set off my hair. I think I'll definitely wear blue."

"I don't think Tamara cares what you're wearing," Arya snapped, obviously as tired of this conversation as Tamara was. She spoke the truth, but Tamara was too well-mannered to reprimand Sansa as openly as Arya had just done.

"Girls, stop." Ned raked a hand through his hair, eyes weary. It looked like being Hand of the King was certainly not an easy occupation. Tamara knew, because it had often taken its toll on her father as well. "Sansa, if you're done eating perhaps you should help Septa Mordane unpack the rest of your clothes."

Obedient as ever, Sansa clambered to her feet and excused herself from the table. Tamara couldn't help but envy her cousin – Sansa was so tall, much taller than Tamara already and yet she was four years younger. Arya kept picking at her food as her cousin watched with mild amusement.

"Are you going to be wearing a dress to my wedding, Arya?"

"I'm not even sure I'll come," Arya confessed bluntly, stabbing at her meat and causing Ned to frown deeply. "I don't like the Lannisters, not any of them. Joffrey is horrid. He made the Hound kill my friend."

"Arya, enough about that," Ned insisted.

Tamara remembered the incident vaguely, although she had only heard about it second-hand. Arya and the butcher's son, whose name escaped her, had been practising down near the river and a fight had ensued somehow between Arya and Joffrey. The Hound, Joffrey's loyal bodyguard, had hunted down the butcher's son…and brought back his body.

"It's the truth!" Arya protested hotly.

"But that has nothing in common with my wedding," Tamara stated quickly, sensing a resurgence of the topic. "Jaime has done you no ill. I would like it if you came to our wedding. It's almost two months away now."

"I think I might come," Arya said doubtfully, casting an uncertain glance towards her father. Tamara wished more than ever that her family would attend the wedding ceremony – if not her mother, then the rest of her cousins and her aunt Catelyn. She felt as though everyone coming aside from Ned, Sansa and Arya was either a stranger or an enemy. The thought put her off her food.

"I may return to my rooms." Tamara set down her knife and fork beside her unfinished meal. "Thank you for dinner, Uncle Ned. I suppose I'll see you at court."

* * *

Tamara was not impressed when she was confronted by Jaime later on during the week. Perhaps it would not have been so much of a confrontation if she had not been actively avoiding him since they had departed Winterfell. The two had spoken briefly a few times during the return journey, but Tamara had rather been hoping she could avoid her betrothed entirely until the day of her wedding. Unfortunately, things never seemed to go as planned.

"Ah, Tamara." It was strange to see Jaime without his Kingsguard uniform, and Tamara wondered with mild curiosity who they had replaced him with. "My lovely betrothed. Time passes quickly. Soon it will be our wedding day. Do you not look forward to it?"

"I must go," Tamara quickly replied, racking her brain for some believable excuse she could use to escape him. "I have many preparations to attend for said wedding, and…"

"Spare me," Jaime scoffed, clearly not at all convinced, causing Tamara's heart to sink as he placed his hand on the wall beside her, barring her path. "I wish to speak with you, and your efforts to avoid me are growing somewhat tiring. You may or may not be aware that my father will arrive at King's Landing within the week, if a little later."

"What has that got to do with me?" Tamara inquired. She was not looking forward to meeting Tywin, in all honesty. She had met the Lannister patriarch several times before, when she had been a little girl, and his presence always sent chills down her spine. She remembered all too vividly the tales of the Targaryen children he had slaughtered and presented to Robert Baratheon. Tamara shuddered to think what would become of her if she ever crossed him.

"It has everything to do with you." Jaime stepped in front of Tamara, placing his other arm on the other side of her head and trapping her against him and the wall. She lifted her chin and attempted to pretend that she wasn't almost a foot shorter than him. "You are to be my wife, and Cersei in particular seems to be…troubled. My dear sister, you see, believes that you will be defiant to the last. I assured her that you are of course wiser than that…which you are, aren't you, Tamara?"

"Are you afraid that I'm going to misbehave when your father arrives?" Tamara asked incredulously. She didn't think Jaime Lannister was worried about anything – he always seemed so cool and collected. The notion that the thought of her upsetting Tywin concerned Jaime was somewhat amusing, although she didn't dare laugh.

"I was simply asking if you were wise," Jaime leaned closer, reaching forward to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind Tamara's ear. "You wouldn't be foolish enough to defy my father, would you? The consequences, I imagine, would not be pleasant."

"Less pleasant than you forcing yourself upon me on our wedding night?" Tamara sniped back before she could even think. On reflection, the comment was not a clever one in any situation, and would certainly anger Jaime. She cringed inwardly, wondering how exactly her betrothed would react. Would he strike her?

No, he didn't. Instead Jaime stepped back with a revolted expression on his face, and she could tell that the accusation had deeply wounded him. His entire frame had tensed, and Tamara could only watch him with growing apprehension, wondering what consequences would come from  _ this  _ defiance.

"I would never force myself upon a woman, especially not my wife," Jaime stated coldly, his green eyes digging into her like sharp emeralds. "You seem to think me a monster, and perhaps I am in some ways. I wonder, are you one of those who whispers 'Kingslayer' behind my back? Trust me, Tamara, I know how to please a woman. Come our wedding night, you will be begging to have me inside you."

Tamara could not help but flush at his crude words. She was too used to the euphemisms of the court, where such things were not bluntly stated but rather, alluded to. However it seemed that Jaime had no qualms talking openly about sex. He only smirked at her glare, and the way her cheeks had turned a deep shade of crimson.

"I would never  _ beg _ you," Tamara responded fiercely, folding her arms over her chest. The very thought of it made her cringe. She was no whore to whisper words of encouragement in order to coax a male to have her. If Jaime thought she would prove more than willing on their wedding night, he would just have to prove it.


End file.
